May 1429, the eastern bastion of Saint-Loup burned beneath a gray Loire sky. The English fortification, one of several strangling Orléans, had to fall if the siege was to be broken. French forces surged forward in uneven waves—men-at-arms, militia, and knights alike pressing through mud and smoke toward the earthworks while English bows and crossbows snapped from behind timber palisades.

Isabelle de Montclair advanced with shield raised, boots slipping in churned ground as cannon smoke drifted low over the field. Ladders thudded against the walls. Arrows hissed.

A sharp cry cut through the clash. The soldier at her side stumbled, a crossbow bolt buried deep in his shoulder. He dropped to one knee, shield falling from numb fingers.

She seized him beneath the arm and hauled him backward toward the cover of a broken cart.

“Stay with me,” she barked over the din. “Keep your head down.”